


accidentally in love

by carissima



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Cookies as Therapy, M/M, Post-Trade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:36:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23070013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carissima/pseuds/carissima
Summary: “You shouldn’t be putting so much weight on your foot,” Tyson says, like he’s some kind of doctor or something. He doesn’t know shit about what Mo’s rehabilitation involves. “Do you uh, need me to do anything while I’m here?”“Like what?” Mo asks, clearly amused.Tyson looks around. “Uh, cleaning?” he tries, which earns him a snort of laughter from Mo. “Laundry? You need groceries? Uh, ice packs? I dunno man, whatever.”
Relationships: Tyson Barrie/Morgan Rielly
Comments: 6
Kudos: 158





	accidentally in love

**Author's Note:**

> i'm obsessed with this pairing. no apologies.

Tyson’s only been to Mo’s place a few times. There were a few preseason invites, when Tyson was still trying to figure his way around both the city and his new team, when Tyson was quiet and not really feeling himself. A few team gatherings since, with UFC or basketball on the big screen in Mo’s living room, when Tyson felt more comfortable, chirping the guys and chilling with a beer in Mo’s kitchen with the guys.

He knocks on Mo’s front door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he waits. Mo’s not expecting him, but his car is in the drive and with his foot injury, Tyson is betting on him being home and recuperating. While he’s waiting, he looks around, impressed by how cosy Mo’s neighborhood looks. He’s one of the few guys on the team that owns an actual house, instead of renting or owning an apartment downtown.

Tyson misses his house in Colorado, along with almost everything else he left behind, so it’s nice when he gets to spend a few hours here or at Muzz’s, or Spezza’s places where it feels like he’s in an actual home. There’s something comforting about a house, Tyson thinks, that an apartment lacks. Naz’s place is fine, but the clean lines and huge windows can get a little intrusive.

There’s a house across the street with bikes littered across the lawn, and next door there’s a beautiful garden, full of greenery even in the depths of Toronto’s winter.

He’s smiling when Mo opens the door, blinking in surprise before he opens the door a little wider. “Tys,” he says. “You’re a long way from home.”

“Thought you might like some company,” Tyson says and lifts up his hand, where he’s holding a grocery bag full of banned in-season food. “I brought a bribe.”

“A bribe to let you in?” Mo huffs out a laugh and steps back to let Tyson step inside. He’s immediately filled with warmth, stamping his boots before he kicks them off and follows Mo into his kitchen. He’s hobbling, but otherwise he looks as good as ever. He’s let his facial hair grow out even more, and Tyson thinks it suits him. He puts the groceries on the counter and grins as Mo takes out a bag of chips, Tyson’s favorite vanilla ice cream and a seemingly never-ending supply of cookies. “This is a hell of a bribe, dude. Are you trying to kill me or something?”

Tyson rips open one of the cookie packets and shoves two in his mouth at once. “It’s a bribe to let me eat this shit,” Tyson admits once he’s swallowed, shooting Mo a grin.

“You’re terrible,” Mo says and turns around, taking two bowls out of a cupboard and placing them in front of Tyson. “You’re also doing it all wrong.”

Five minutes later, Tyson’s eating warm chocolate chip cookies and ice cream in front of Mo’s television, groaning in appreciation at how fucking good everything tastes. “You’re a genius,” he tells Mo with the utmost sincerity.

“I know,” Mo says, rubbing a hand over his belly and putting his empty bowl down on the table. “So what really brings you all the way out here then?”

Tyson takes his time to enjoy his last mouthful of ice cream before reluctantly putting his bowl down too. He swipes his tongue across his lips, chasing any traces of taste and sighs, looking over to where Mo’s waiting patiently.

“I never felt old until I got traded,” he says. He doesn’t mean to say it, but he never does. Words accidentally come out of his mouth all the damn time. It’s actually easier in Toronto. He doesn’t have a big, obvious thing for his captain here, for one. JT’s fine, but he’s not a big, blonde, gorgeous Viking who flirts as easy as breathing. Plus, Toronto’s fan base is huge, so he’s not being roped into media duties to increase the popularity of the team. He’s barely even a top ten player here.

He misses Colorado.

“Tell me about it,” Mo says and shakes his head. “Mitchy makes me feel a hundred years old, sometimes.”

“Then there’s the old guys with their families,” Tyson blurts out, because apparently this is why he drove all the way out here. “Spezza and Muzz, and JT. He’s only a year older than me and he’s married with a kid, you know?”

“Ah,” Mo says thoughtfully.

“What does that mean?” Tyson asks. Mo’s looking at him like he’s seeing something that Tyson’s not ready to show anyone yet, so he stands up abruptly and takes their bowls to the kitchen, dumping them in the sink. He turns on the tap and rinses them, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself.

When he turns around, Mo’s leaning against the counter, facing him.

“You shouldn’t be putting so much weight on your foot,” Tyson says, like he’s some kind of doctor or something. He doesn’t know shit about what Mo’s rehabilitation involves. “Do you uh, need me to do anything while I’m here?”

“Like what?” Mo asks, clearly amused.

Tyson looks around. “Uh, cleaning?” he tries, which earns him a snort of laughter from Mo. “Laundry? You need groceries? Uh, ice packs? I dunno man, whatever.”

Mo’s openly laughing at him now. Tyson would be offended but he’s used to being a source of amusement to his teammates. Usually, he prides himself on it.

“Thanks for the offer,” Mo tells him solemnly. “But no, Tyson. I don’t need you to wash my dirty clothes or fill my refrigerator.”

“Right,” Tyson says and swallows thickly. Right. “Sorry.”

“Hey,” Mo says gently and steps across the kitchen to put his hand comfortingly on Tyson’s shoulder. He squeezes and Tyson feels whatever tension he’s been holding just seep out of him. “You don’t have to be sorry. But you can talk to me, if you want. About whatever’s bothering you.”

“I miss Nate,” Tyson says and screws up his face in embarrassment. “And Gabe, and EJ. I miss knowing exactly who I was on the team, and what was expected of me.”

Mo exhales slowly. “Okay, well that’s a lot to unpack, and I’m not meant to be on my foot for too long,” he says. “So why don’t we go sit down again and talk?”

“Ah, shit,” Tyson says and shifts to slide his arm around Mo’s waist. He ignores Mo’s raised eyebrows. “Let me help you.”

Mo’s clearly trying not to laugh at him, but he lets Tyson guide him back to the sofa and murmurs a quiet thanks when they’re settled, knees bumping together as they angle towards each other.

“You know, JT had a pretty rough time when he came here,” Mo says. He’s got an arm resting against the back of the sofa, his fingers loosely dangled just behind Tyson’s neck. “He might be able to help.”

“JT chose to leave,” Tyson says, and immediately feels guilty. “I mean, he could have re-signed but he didn’t.”

“And you would have,” Mo guesses.

“Yeah,” Tyson says on a slow exhale. “I know the team wanted me to stay. I still talk to Nate most days, and Gabe’s always sending me messages and whatever.”

“But you still got traded, and that sucks,” Mo says. His fingers brush over Tyson’s collar bone just for a moment and Tyson shivers. “What about Muzz?”

“Talk to him, you mean?” Tyson says and shifts just a little, bringing him that much closer to Mo. “I could, probably.”

“Tys,” Mo says, his voice dipping low. His fingers brush over Tyson’s skin again, and this time they stay. “You could have talked to half the team about this. You know they’d listen.”

“Maybe,” Tyson agrees, his voice thick and a little gravelly. He slides his hand over the space between them on the sofa, and carefully places it on Mo’s thigh. “They’re good guys.”

Mo hums thoughtfully as his hand trails down Tyson’s chest, his thumb deliberately scraping over Tyson’s nipple, dragging a shuddering gasp from Tyson before he settles his hand on Tyson’s waist with a firm grip. Tyson can feel his fingers digging into his skin, almost hard enough to leave a mark but not quite. “Mitch is a pretty tactile guy,” he says. “If you’re looking for that kind of thing.”

Tyson licks his lips slowly, watching with heavy eyes as Mo stares shamelessly, his lips parted.

“I mean, I watched tape, when I heard about the trade,” Mo says. He’s still staring at Tyson’s mouth, and his hand tightens on Tyson’s waist. Now he’s gonna have marks. “I already knew how good you were, and then I thought we might play together, so I watched a lot of tape.”

“Yeah?” Tyson likes the idea of Mo watching him, maybe admiring a few of his plays, maybe thinking of ways where he could help Tyson improve his game. He starts to flush.

“Then I watched all the off-ice stuff I could find,” Mo tells him. “There’s a lot of that stuff, too.”

“You’re very thorough,” Tyson murmurs. “But you already knew me.”

“I did,” Mo agrees. “But off-season training isn’t the same as knowing what you’re like surrounded by a team. A very close team.”

“Did you learn anything?” Tyson asks, just as Mo puts his other hand on Tyson’s waist and drags him closer, until he’s almost sitting in Mo’s lap.

“I learned that you were always being manhandled,” Mo says, his voice low again. “Someone was always touching you.”

Tyson thinks about Nate’s arm slung around his shoulders, pulling him in close like they were always sharing secrets, when half the time they were planning their next meal. Or Gabe shoving him and reeling him back in, a constant presence when Nate wasn’t around. Or sometimes even when he was. Or EJ’s arm around the back of Tyson’s chair, a hand in his hair or his fingers circled around his wrist.

“I like being touched,” Tyson admits. Then he gives in and carefully climbs into Mo’s lap, his knees bracketing Mo’s hips and his hands either side of Mo’s head on the back of the sofa. Mo slides his hands down Tyson’s thighs and back up again, his movements steady and firm.

“Did they touch you like this?” Mo asks, curious.

“Sometimes,” Tyson says. He’s curious too, leaning forward just enough to roll their hips together. He smiles, pleased. “But it was never- you know. It wasn’t like this.”

Mo nods, his hand wandering down Tyson’s thigh again. But this time, when he slides it back up, he cups Tyson’s half-hard dick in his hand. “Like this?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Tyson sighs and closes his eyes. He rocks his hips gently, just enough to push himself harder into Mo’s hold and it feels wonderful. "Not like that."

“So you came all the way out here with my favorite foods to bribe me into jerking you off,” Mo says.

Tyson cracks open an eye and takes in Mo’s small smirk and the obvious tent in his own pants. “Not really,” he says and presses his hand down onto Mo’s chest. He can feel the rapid beat of his heart, the heat of his body seeping through his thin top. He leans in, slowly, and presses his mouth to Mo’s jaw, his beard tickling Tyson’s lips. His hand tilts Mo’s head upwards so he can kiss his throat, pleased when Mo makes a strangled noise. “This is just an added benefit,” he murmurs and nips at his jaw.

“Jesus,” Mo groans and Tyson finds himself being flipped down onto the sofa, staring up at Mo over him. “What do you want, Tys?”

“To forget,” Tyson says too honestly.

Mo raises his eyebrows. There’s clearly a battle going on inside Mo’s head, and Tyson waits, his heart pounding. He wants this. He wants Mo to help him forget everything he’s left behind, everything he’s lost.

“And when I come back?” Mo asks.

“I might already be gone,” Tyson says wearily. He’s heard the trade rumors, and judging by the pitying look on Mo’s face, he’s not the only one. “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he says, and tries his hardest to mean it. It’s difficult though, when Mo’s weight is pressing down on him, his dick heavy against Tyson’s thigh, and his face. God, his face.

“They can’t afford to trade you,” Mo says and then he kisses him. It’s slow and thorough and by the time Mo lifts his head, Tyson’s head is spinning. He stares up at Mo, both of them panting hard, and then they’re tearing at each other’s clothes, desperate and careless. He hears material ripping, and he doesn’t care who it belongs to, not when he’s this close to Mo’s naked body.

He gets distracted by Mo’s chest, sucking bruising kisses all over his bare, beautiful pale skin, shifting his hips when Mo yanks at his jeans, dragging them down his legs.

“Mind your foot,” Tyson says belatedly.

Mo laughs and nudges Tyson’s legs apart. They’re both naked, which is a testament to Mo’s efficiency and determination. Tyson’s too easily distracted, if he’d been in charge they’d be coming in their pants, half-undressed and too eager.

Tyson lets his hands roam down over Mo’s back, feeling his muscles contract under his fingertips. He’s solid and warm and completely covers Tyson’s body, making him feel smaller than he is. He likes the feeling so, so much.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs against Mo’s mouth.

“Shut up,” Mo laughs and squeezes his waist. Tyson gasps, his skin sensitive from Mo’s earlier touch, his dick twitching between them. “Christ, Tys. What do you want?”

“This,” Tyson whines.

“You want my hand? My mouth? My dick inside you? Yours inside me?” Mo says, every filthy word making Tyson’s head foggier and tiny desperate sounds escape his throat. “What would make you forget?”

Tyson kisses him, partly because he’s desperate to kiss him and partly to stop Mo saying words that are going to make him come untouched. He grabs Mo’s hand and guides it to his own ass, writhing against him as Mo figures out what he wants and gently probes him.

“I’m gonna need lube,” Mo mutters, pulling back far enough to look at Tyson. He doesn’t know what Mo sees, but he hears his groan and feels the sharp bite of his teeth against Tyson’s bottom lip before he climbs off Tyson and disappears for a few seconds.

Tyson wraps his hand around his dick and jerks himself a few times, eyes closed as he tries to be patient. It’s never been his strong suit.

“No,” Mo says, suddenly close and Tyson opens his eyes, his hand falling away from himself. Mo climbs between his legs and squirts lube over his fingers. “Do you want me to be gentle?”

Tyson shakes his head, unable to speak. He watches in silence as Mo rolls on a condom and coats himself in enough lube that Tyson knows he’s going to be cleaning himself for days, but he doesn’t care. Mo preps him quickly, until they’re both gasping and covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

“Please,” Tyson begs, wrapping his arms around Mo’s neck and dragging him down, shuddering as he feels Mo’s cock pressing against him. “Oh god. Please, Mo.”

“I promised to make you forget,” Mo whispers in his ear. He’s guiding himself into Tyson, slow and easy, filling him up so good that Tyson’s struggling to breathe.

“Fuck me,” Tyson whines. “Please, Mo.”

“Who are you thinking about, Tys?”

“You,” Tyson swears. He feels like crying. Mo feels so good inside of him, surrounding him. When Tyson looks up, all he can see is Mo. “Just you.”

“Good,” Mo says and thrusts all the way inside, his low groan matching Tyson’s as he hits just the right spot. Neither of them speak as Mo starts to move, finding an easy rhythm as Tyson lifts his hips to meet him.

Tyson pulls him in for a kiss. It’s a mess, but Tyson needs the connection.

Mo wraps his hand around Tyson’s dick, his thumb rubbing over the head and smearing precome down his shaft until his grip is slick and perfect.

“Yeah,” Tyson mutters and shoves down hard on Mo’s dick. It’s wet and perfect, and he comes into Mo’s hand, trembling and panting Mo’s name over and over again.

Mo fucks him through it, waiting until Tyson’s too sensitive before he pulls out, rips off the condom and jerks himself off over Tyson’s messy skin. “Mo,” Tyson murmurs, drawing his gaze. Mo’s staring at him as he comes, and Tyson draws in a sharp breath as his come splatters onto his belly.

Mo’s arms give out and he lays his head on Tyson’s chest, his body curled around Tyson. After a few minutes of blissful post-orgasmic glow, Tyson feels Mo’s fingers sliding over his belly, and it takes him a few minutes to realize that Mo’s rubbing his come into Tyson’s skin.

Tyson’s spent dick twitches.

“That was amazing,” Tyson says honestly. Top marks. Would recommend.

“Thanks,” Mo says, amused. He shifts so he can look up at Tyson, and it gives him a clear view of where Mo’s fingertips are sliding through their shared come. “Did it help?”

“Hell yeah,” Tyson laughs and gives up on resisting putting his hands in Mo’s hair.

They lay there together for a while, both of them watching each other unashamedly. Tyson’s got to admit, it’s been a while since he got laid and Mo looks really, really good naked, lying next to him. It wouldn’t take much for Tyson to go again, if Mo was interested.

As it turns out, Mo’s interested enough to let Tyson blow him, kneeling between his knees while Mo cradles his cheek. They maintain eye contact for the whole blowjob, which gets Tyson hard enough to jerk off while he’s blowing Mo, much to Mo’s displeasure.

“I wanted to get you off,” Mo grumbles afterward, when he realizes.

So Tyson has to stay long enough for his dick to go again, when Mo fucks him against the bathroom sink. He’d forgotten to lock the door and Mo had slipped in while he was washing his hands. There are hand marks all over the mirror above the sink, but Tyson knows exactly what Mo looks like when he’s fucking him from behind, so he’s not really sorry about it.

“I should get back,” Tyson says after Mo’s made them dinner and Tyson’s washed the dishes. He doesn’t really want to go and leave this perfect bubble of whatever they’re doing, but he’s got practice tomorrow morning and his ass is going to be sore. He has zero regrets, but it’s probably time to start being responsible.

“Thanks for coming over,” Mo says, like Tyson’s just popped over to keep him company for a few hours.

Tyson hides his frown and heads for the door, slipping his boots and jacket on. When he turns towards Mo, ready to say something - he doesn’t know what but his mouth is open and ready - Mo pins him against the door and kisses him. He digs his fingertips into Tyson’s sides where he knows there are already possessive-looking bruises, and he kisses Tyson harder when he whines into Mo’s mouth.

“I don’t want to go,” Tyson admits, too honest as usual.

Mo sighs and cups his face with his hands. “Tyson.”

“I know,” he says. And he does. He gets it. But. “I could have gone on Grindr.”

Mo nods. “I know.”

“Could have got laid in the city,” Tyson continues, feeling a little brave. “Fucked someone who didn’t know me and forgotten about them by the time I got home.”

“Sounds a lot less complicated,” Mo says. He slides his hand into Tyson’s, their fingers linking together.

“I’m probably going to get traded, either before the deadline or in the summer,” Tyson says. He squeezes Mo’s hand.

“I’m going back to Vancouver for the summer,” Mo says instead. He pulls Tyson closer.

Tyson laughs shakily and lets his head fall onto Mo’s shoulder. “Me too.”

“We can figure it out,” Mo tells him. “If we want to.”

“I think I want to,” Tyson says. He thinks about his home in Colorado. He thinks about his home in Victoria. He thinks about Mo in those spaces, and it feels good. “Trade deadline is in three weeks.”

“My schedule is wide open,” Mo says dryly. “You need an invitation to come back?”

“Maybe a bribe,” Tyson says.

Mo tips his head and kisses him slowly. “An incentive,” he decides.

Tyson laughs, feeling lighter than he has in months. “Works for me.”


End file.
